


The meaning in a name

by mrstotten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Personal Canon, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:32:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstotten/pseuds/mrstotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this was a birthday present fic, for my darling beautiful AutumnLilacs she asked for a fic featuring a back story of Bobby and his wife pre Supernatural.  Don't know if this is exactly what she wanted, but hopefully it was </p><p>She was the only woman he ever loved.  They were going to grow old together, but sometimes fate has plans that don't meet your own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The meaning in a name

Robert William Singer had been known by a lot of names in his life.

The few people he counts as friends know him as Bob, Bobbo, old Singer, the old fart, and after a long summer night a few years back, when too much Whiskey had made a few grown men believe that shooting holes in tin cans sounded like a good idea, they had taken to calling him ‘The Duke’.

To his customers and neighbors, he was Mr Singer, that nice old Mr Singer, and to the occasional few, the grumpy old bastard who lived in the junk yard.

To Sam and Dean, _his **boys**_ , he was plain ole Bobby, nothing more, nothing less.

But to Katherine, he had been Robert. Always.

_______________________

**August 1968**

His attention was drawn to her, the minute she walked into the room. 

Something about her bearing, her manner, made her stand out from the giggling group of girls around her.

He very rarely used the word beautiful, but no other word could do this girl justice.

Her soft lemon-colored dress swayed gently to her knees, bringing out the honey tones of her skin, her long dark hair fell in soft waves, framing the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen.

“Better close your mouth there Bobbo, you look like you’re catching flies.” He turned to find his best friend Nate standing at his side, amusement in his eyes.

“Who is she?” he asked. One of the advantages of being friends with Nate was that Nate knew _everybody_

“Who?” Nate asked innocently, mischief dancing on his face at his friends look of annoyance.

He sighed and raised an eyebrow. One of the disadvantages of being friends with Nate, was that Nate could be a royal pain in the ass.

“Quit screwing around Nate, who is she? Do you know her or not?” he asked inclining his head slightly to the girl across the room.

“Bobbo, Bobbo! You should know by now, there is _nobody_ I don’t know.” Nate replied.

He waited for some further information, but Nate remained silent, lips smirking.

He let out a huff of breath. He did not have the time, or the patience, for this shit.

“Nate!” he growled.

“Ok buddy, relax,” Nate smiled, deciding to put his friend out of his misery. “What do you want to know?” Nate asked.

He stared over at the girl in the lemon-colored dress. He watched as she laughed at something one of her friend was saying.

“Everything,” he replied.

 

****

“Would you like to dance?” He held his breath, as the girl turned her attention to him.

His hands felt clammy and he was convinced she could _hear_ how fast his heart was beating.

As he had walked over here, he had gone over everything Nate had told him about her.

Her name was Katherine Marie Jenkins, she was a freshman studying literature at the University of North Dakota. She came from Sioux Falls, and had come to the party with Nate’s on/off girlfriend Natalie. But standing next to her now, everything he had learned, seemed to have vanished from his memory.

She smiled, softly and sweetly, and he lost track of any remaining sense he had. He hoped she didn’t actually ask him anything now, because he was pretty sure the only words his brain was capable of forming were _Guh_ and _Mhh_.

“I’d love to,” she replied.

He returned the smile, and took her offered hand, leading her onto the dance floor. 

As she settled into his arms, he could smell the scent of lilacs in her hair. He breathed in, and tried to remember the last time he had smelt anything that good. 

She felt soft and warm in his arms. As he turned her about the dance floor, he tried to think of some line of conversation that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idjit. But all he could think of, was how good she smelled and how damn blue here eyes were.

She smiled up at him, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. Damn but this girl made him feel like a fourteen year old school boy.

“You know we’re dancing and we haven’t even introduced ourselves,” she said lightly. “I’m K….”

“Katherine, I know,” he interrupted. Damn why the hell had he gone and done that for? He felt like kicking himself.

Her smile grew wider.

“Ok then. Well, it would seem you have me at a disadvantage, as you know my name, and I still don’t know yours,” she replied.

“Robert,” he answered quickly. “But my friends call me Bob.”

“Robert,” she replied, as if testing the sound of it. “Well I’m very pleased to meet you, Robert.”

He smiled down at her, and wondered distantly, if it was actually possible to fall in love at first sight.

“I told you, my friend’s call me Bob,” he teased lightly. “Or is that your way of saying we’re not going to be friends?”

He felt a shiver of anxiety at that thought, and tried to keep his voice as light as possible.

She smiled at him, and he felt the tension start to ease.

“No, I think we’re going to be great friends. But I’m going to call you Robert,” she teased.

“I like the sound of Robert.” She smiled.

He smiled back, and they fell into easy conversation as they danced their way through the next few songs. 

She was charming, and funny, they talked about friends, and school. She laughed as she said his name, in a way that no-one else ever had.

He decided he liked the way Robert sounded on her lips too.

\--------------------

**June 1969**

“I, Katherine Marie Jenkins, take you Robert William Singer to be my lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, from this day forward, ‘til death parts us.”

He smiled at the words, then felt the smile stretch his lips wide, as he repeated his own vows.

As they danced together later, he remembered their first dance, their whirlwind courtship of kisses and dances, and whispered promises. 

He marveled again over how much he loved the woman in his arms, his **wife**. He was pretty sure that he looked like one smug bastard right about now. 

Hearing her whisper his name and words of love in his ear, he felt like the king of the world, and he wondered if anything could ever feel better than this.

Later that night, tangled in-between cotton sheets and warm golden skin, hearing his name whispered over and over again in an altogether different way. 

He knew, that things could _never_ get better than this.

 

**November 1972**

“Can you pass the salt please?”

He sighed inwardly at the strain in her voice. He passed over the salt, as their hands brushed, he felt a frisson of electricity shoot through his skin, he held in another sigh as her hand jerked away quickly.

The last few weeks had been full of these moments. The ease and familiarity which they had once had with each other, had been replaced with awkward silences, and tense conversations.

He had spoken to other buddies who had returned home from Vietnam, in-between tours. They had spoken about the changes. Returning to kids, who had grown three feet, and wives, who were now strangers. Yet somehow, he had never thought it would happen to him, to _them_.

In the whole time he had known Katherine, things had never been anything but easy. They had fallen in love, with a simplicity and ease which had always felt natural to them.

They had finished each others sentences, knew each others moods, had their own language that no-one else understood. They could look at each other across a room, and know exactly what the other was thinking.

They had been unbeatable, unshakable, inseparable.

Until war, and blood, and a million fuckin miles between here and Vietnam had separated them, shook them to the core and returned them beaten and broken.

Now, they were like polite strangers co-existing alongside each other. Every time he started a conversation, he could see the flare of hope in her eyes, hope that this time, things would flow, that they would fall into their old habits, and the laughter and ease would return.

Each time he felt the words die in his throat, and saw the hope die in her eyes.

He knew it was him; he was the one who had changed. The things he had seen, hell the things he had _done_ , it would have been impossible for him **not** to have changed.

He knew she wanted to talk about it, she had tried a couple of times, but he had cut her off, quickly, cruelly. She couldn’t understand, she hadn’t been there, she hadn’t _seen_ it. So she could never understand.

But now, with his reluctance to talk and her inability to understand, they were breaking. The bond between them, so sure, so solid and present, was now being stretched tight, like an elastic band with too little give.

Sooner or later it was going to give and snap, and tear away, the last good thing in his life.

He wouldn’t let that happen, he _couldn’t_ , he would find a way to fix this somehow.

That damn war had taken four of his best friends, his innocence and a good portion of his sanity.

It would **not** take his marriage.

\---------

_Blood, there was blood everywhere he looked. All around him blood and death. He could feel the stench permeate his nose, making him sick._

_Everywhere he looked, he saw the faces of friends and enemies, their eyes wide open, their mouths speechless. Cut down at a time of their life where they should just be beginning._

_He heard the sounds of gunfire close by, and he knew he was next, knew they were coming for him._

_All he could think about was Katherine, her eyes, her smile. He couldn’t die here; he needed to get home to Katherine._

_He felt the explosion and could feel the pain in his leg burn, as he started to scream._

__

He felt arms, wrapped around him, a soft and gentle voice whispering to him. He was shaking and sweating.

He felt the nightmare start to recede, it was over, he wasn’t over there any more, he was home, and he never had to go back to that god forsaken country _ever_ again.

It took him a couple of minutes to realize that these thoughts weren’t in his head. 

They were being whispered to him, in a soft gentle voice by the woman cradling him in her arms.

He felt himself start to shake harder, could feel the tears build up in his throat, and he fought them with everything he had.

She didn’t need to see him like this. This was never meant to touch her. He went over there to make sure this war. Never. Fucking. Touched. Her.

She needed him to be strong; she needed her husband, not some whimpering broken man bringing sadness and terror into her life.

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispered. “It’s okay, Robert. I’ve got you, I’ve got you baby, you’re never going back there, I’ve got you. Let it out baby, please Robert, let it out, I’ve got you. I’ve **always** got you. Let it out, Robert, please.”

He felt the dam break inside him at her soft, whispered words. The sobs taking over his body, as he cried in her arms. 

He cried for the people who had been lost, the boys he knew and the ones he didn’t, he cried for the innocent happiness, they had both once known, and would never get back.

But as the sobs racking his body died down, he cried new tears, tears that were as much of relief, as sorrow.

He had come home. Unlike so many, he had gotten to come home to his wife. He was **home.**

As he fell asleep, cradled in his wife’s arms, listening to her whispered words of comfort. He realized…

Maybe things weren’t as broken as he feared.

 

**May 1979**

He took a long drink of lemonade, as he surveyed the car in front of him.

It was a 1953 Pontiac Chieftain, pretty beaten up, but put a bit of love into this baby and she would be golden.

He could hear Katherine puttering about in the kitchen, the salty smell of beef stew rising in the air.

Damn, but he was hungry.

He looked up at the kitchen window, and saw the outline of his wife as she moved about the kitchen whistling. He felt a swell in his heart as he thought of how their life had been over the last sixteen years.

They had been through some pretty rocky times in their marriage. Working through the whole Vietnam thing, relearning each other, falling in love all over again. Buying this big house, with dreams of starting their own business and filling it, with the sounds of children’s laughter.

The business had come easy, the children, not so easy.

He could still remember that dark day seven years ago, when they had found out, that a family wouldn’t be possible. Ever.

It was the only time, he could ever remember seeing Katherine so angry. Angry at God, angry at the world, even angry at him.

She had told him repeatedly to leave her, to find some other woman who could give him the family they had both so desperately wanted.

Silly woman, she just couldn’t get it through her head, that the word family didn’t exist in his head, without her being a part of it. He could have a dozen kids, but he would never have a family without Katherine.

They had gotten past it though, had learned how to fill their lives up, with each other, with friends, work, and hobbies.

He could see her sometimes though, when the air was still around them, and there was nothing to occupy her mind, he could see her drift off into thinking about the life that might have been.

Hell, he wondered about it himself sometimes, more for her than him, she would have been a wonderful mother.

Every now and then, he would think about the other role he may have played in life. 

He thought about teaching a mop haired little boy about baseball and cars, watching him grow, teaching him how to be a good man, watching as he found his own Katherine.

Or maybe it would have been a little girl. With tight dark curls, who would have been able to twist him round her little finger, just like her mother. He would have looked after her, made sure no boy got within ten feet of her. Watched her grow into a woman as beautiful as his mother, then watch as she made some lucky guy as happy as Katherine had made him.

He could have had so many other names, Dad, Daddy, Grandpa.

He was broken out of reverie by the sound of Katherine calling him.

“Robert, dinner’s ready love.”

He looked up and saw her framed in the doorway, the last rays of sunlight, lighting her hair like a halo. Her warm smile lighting up her face and her sparkling blue eyes lighting up in a way they did only for him.

She looked like an angel.

His angel.

He could have had that other life, but not with Katherine, and without her, it would have been no life at all.

He headed up the porch steps, gathering his wife in his arms, as he placed a kiss on her nose, she giggled and swatted him with the tea towel.

“Come in you goose, dinner will get cold”

He was happy just being Robert, her Robert.

 

 

**November 1979**

“Stop it please baby, you don’t know what you are doing. Please, this is me, this is me Katherine! Your wife. You. Don’t. Want. To. Hurt. Me. Please put the knife down. I’m sorry I don’t know what got into me. I never meant to hurt you.”

He felt the uncertainty rise within him. It felt like a vice clamped around his heart as he looked at the face of the woman he had loved for over a decade.

His arm ached where she had stabbed him, the scratches on his face burned. She had been wild, almost feral as she had laid into him, blow after blow.

But all he could see when he looked at her now, was Katherine.

His wife, his world, his **life**.

What if he was wrong, what if he was crazy. He felt his hand start to lower, as he looked Katherine’s tear stained face. What the **hell** was he thinking?

She flung herself into his arms, sobbing.

“Oh Robert, it’s okay baby. It’s going to be okay.” 

He felt something twist inside him as she sobbed, his mind flashed back to all the times he had heard her speak his name.

_“I think I like the sound of Robert better.”_

_“I Katherine Marie Jenkins, take you, Robert William Singer.”_

_“It’s ok Robert, I’ve got you.”_

_“I Love you, Robert.”_

_“Robert, dinner’s ready love.”_

“Robert? It’s ok baby, I’m not mad, it’s ok.”

He looked down at the woman in his arms and knew.

She looked just like her, just like his Katherine, her mannerisms, her eyes, her smile, even the soft soothing way she was stroking his arm, but on this creatures lips, his name sounded ugly, twisted, nothing like the way it sounded on his Katherine’s lips.

Just as he saw the creature lift her arms to plunge the knife in, he drove his own knife into her side. He felt her gasp as he drove the knife in, and he saw the knife she had been holding drop to the ground, as he stabbed her repeatedly.

He held the wriggling monster tight as he continued to drive the knife in and out, until it stopped struggling.

He felt himself fly through the air, as the creature, threw him off her. He looked up in horror, as she walked towards him, wearing his wife’s face, but it was wrong, the ugly sneer on this things face looked unnatural on Katherine’s sweet features.

The lemon-colored dress she was wearing (lemon, just like the day they met) was covered in blood. He felt a sob hitch in his throat, as sadness and terror rushed through him. He had stabbed her at least ten times, she shouldn’t be walking, but she was.

“Aww, what’s the matter baby? Are you scared? Confused? Wondering how your poor wife is walking about around after you stabbed her?” The creature smiled, an awkward ugly twist of her lips.

“She was in here you know,” it spoke casually, as it played with the knife in it’s hands. “When you stabbed her, she was still here, screaming, begging for her **Robert** to stop, to help her, and what did you do baby? You dug the knife in harder.”

The creature laughed at the horror on his face

“Huh, and people say we demons are twisted,” it smiled cruelly.

He felt the rage overtake his fear as he rushed towards the creature, hatred building inside him. But before he got nearer it lifted it’s head and he watched in horror, as black smoke billowed out of Katherine’s mouth.

Katherine’s body hit the ground and the smoke disappeared.

He heard a whimper come from the body on the floor, and he stilled.

“Robert.” The voice was weak, and strained, and unmistakably Katherine.

He crouched down on the floor, and gathered her up in his arms. 

“It’s okay baby,” he soothed. “You’re going to be okay.”

He knew the words to be lies, even as he spoke them The blood was gushing in torrents now. Each twisted tear of skin, letting out too much blood.

“We’re going to get you out of here baby, we’re going to get you to a hospital,” he said, his voice catching on the knot in his throat.

“No,” she replied. “Robert, no, it’s too late”

He ignored her, and hitched her body into his arms, immediately regretting it, as she groaned in agony, and the bleeding seemed to double again.

“Robert please, please put me down, it’s too late baby. I just need you to hold me. Please baby.”

He sank back to his knees and held her, his hands pushing her hair back from her beautiful face. He saw the trail of blood, his fingers left behind. Her blood, his hands were covered in _her_ blood. He had done this to her.

He started sobbing.

“Im sorry, oh god Katherine, I am _so_ sorry. I did this to you. I..” he felt his voice break as the words refused to come any longer.

“No baby, you didn’t” her voice interrupted him “This wasn’t your fault, that thing inside me, she was going to make me kill you. She was going to make me hurt you, for _fun_. She was evil, and twisted, and you got her out of me baby. You helped me”

“No, nononono” he sobbed brokenly “I, oh god I did this to you”

“Robert, please. Robert!” her voice, firmer than it had been, but still so weak, finally caught his attention.

“This isn’t your fault, please don’t blame yourself, baby please. You saved me. You’ve always saved me”

He opened his mouth to reply. To tell her how much he loved her, how it wasn’t him that had saved her. She had saved him, from nightmares, from loneliness, from himself. She had been everything he had ever wanted, ever hoped for, and she couldn’t leave him. 

He knew before he could get the first word out, that it was too late. Her body was still, the sparkle in her eyes, that he loved so much was gone.

She was gone.

He sat there for hours, cradling Katherine’s body in his arms. 

He looked down at his wife’s beautiful face, her eyes open, just like those boys in Vietnam, so long ago.

Katherine had pulled him out of the darkness that time. Who would do it now?

He wondered why no-one had ever told him that it was possible to be dead and still keep breathing.

 

 

**May 1983**

“John, this is Bob Singer, he’s the guy I told you about.”

He looked at the man in front of him, John Winchester. He had heard a lot about him. Lost his wife to some sort of supernatural being, and since then, had been carving his way through, demon after demon, in search for answers.

No-one had mentioned the kids to him. No-one had mentioned that John Winchester came with baggage, in the guise of two young boys, who at this moment in time, were sitting at the table in front of him., the older one holding the toddler in his lap as they looked through a story book together.

He shook Winchester’s hand and motioned to the back of the bar, where they could go talk.

The man had a firm handshake, which was always a good sign, but Winchester surprised him, by sitting down at the table next to his kids. 

Not exactly the best place to talk about demons, but after all the man had been through, it was understandable that he was reluctant to let his kids out of his sight.

He sat down and over the next half hour they spoke about what had happened to Katherine, about what had happened to John’s wife Mary. The man was angry, and thirsty for vengeance, he understood, that. He had been in that position himself. 

Throughout the conversation, he felt his eyes continually being drawn to the two small boys in their company, but they seemed lost in each other, engrossed in the book in front of them.

After they hashed out exactly what information John wanted from him, they decided it was best to head back to his place. The books and stuff Winchester would need to look at were all back there. John excused himself, saying he just had to get some stuff out of Ellen’s back room. 

“Take your time, I’ll wait right here” he replied.

He watched John head to the bar and started talking to Ellen.

He turned his attention back to the kids. The older one had the baby cradled on his lap, balancing the story book in one arm, and the now squirming toddler with the other.

He cleared his throat, and went to introduce himself. Before he could get a word out, the older kid looked up at him fixing him with most innocent set of green eyes, he had ever seen. The kids eyes were full of hope, innocence and happiness. 

He knew if the kid stayed in the life his father seemed to have mapped out for them, these emotions wouldn’t survive long. Once again he felt a bite of anger at the kid’s father for dragging them into a world they should never have to see.

He understood the need for action; to seek answers to extract vengeance, but in his story, he hadn’t been left with the legacy, the **gift** that John Winchester had been given. 

When Katherine had left him, he had been left with nothing.

He knew it wouldn’t do any good to tell Winchester that. The man’s path was set, nothing he could say would change it. 

There was no-one left to look after these kids now. Their mother was gone, and their father might as well be. 

He was brought out of his thoughts when he realised the kid was talking to him.

“Are you a friend of my Daddy’s?” the older kid asked.

He wasn’t quite sure how to answer that one, so he nodded slightly, and was rewarded by a large gap toothed smile.

“My daddy is the best,” the kid stated proudly, his smile if anything growing brighter. “He’s gonna teach me how to hunt.”

“Is that right?” he answered, trying to keep his growing anger in check.

“Yep, me and Sammy,” the kid replied. “Oh my name is Dean, this is Sammy. It’s short for Samuel. Dean isn’t short for anything though; I’m just Dean” 

He found himself smiling as the kid rattled on.

“The nice lady said your name is Bob. Bob is short for Robert. Is your name Robert?” Dean asked.

He felt his smile start to slip as the name. Spoken innocently from the kids mouth, it brought back memories of tears love, laughter and blood. He sometimes wondered which memories were more painful.

“No,” he answered gruffly. “Well that is, yes it is, but no-one calls me that anymore.” 

Dean’s smile dipped slightly at the strained tone in his voice.

“So do we call you Bob then?” he asked hesitantly.

He looked down at the kid with the innocent eyes, watching as the baby, grabbed at his big brothers hair, tangling the locks round his chubby little fist. These kids were going to need someone to look out for them. Their father was too far gone to do it alone. They needed someone to make sure their dad, didn’t go too far off the road he was on.

He met Dean’s eyes squarely.

“How about you call me Bobby?” he suggested.

Dean’s smile grew wider.

“Ok Bobby,” he said. He turned to the baby in his lap, disentangling the fist from his hair. “Sam this is Uncle Bobby, say hello”

Bobby looked at the kids, their smiling faces; trusting and open, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something inside him start to heal.

He would never be Robert again, but he could be Bobby.

Yeah he could live with that.

 

*end *

**Author's Note:**

> Hugs and a multitude of thanks to rebekah fair for the quickest beta I have EVER seen. Hugs and kisses to veritas_st for the words of encouragment (you rock) and Hugs and Schnoogles to my beautiful becks for putting up with e-mail spamming, meep'age and coming up with the awesme summary.


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